


Middle 8 of the Melody

by Raven913



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Magic, Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 02:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven913/pseuds/Raven913
Summary: "A cold draft as the pub door opened, whispers and turned heads, a pen writing a number across the back of your hand, and she swept back out like she hadn’t just given you the shock of a lifetime. People were still talking."After centuries of waiting for Arthur, Merlin doesn't quite know what to think when it's Morgana who suddenly reappears.





	Middle 8 of the Melody

 

It took you four days to hit “send” after dialing that phone number.

Your hands shook slightly as you lifted the mobile to your ear, and each ring felt like a death toll. You took a deep breath, muttered, “stop being a drama queen”, and waited.

“Merlin!” Morgana’s voice came from the speaker. “It took you long enough! I’d begun to think I would have to track you down at that old pub again.”

You wanted to avoid that. A cold draft as the pub door opened, whispers and turned heads, a pen writing a number across the back of your hand, and she swept back out like she hadn’t just given you the shock of a lifetime. People were still talking.

“Morgana. I suppose we have a lot to talk about.” Your voice sounded wary, uncertain, and so, so tired. You hoped she couldn’t tell.

“Understatement of the millennium,” Morgana laughed, bright and unconcerned. “Is there somewhere we could go?”

“There’s a park nearby. Meet there at dawn?” The park was safe, dawn was private.

 

* * *

 

The sun was still rising when the sound of heels clicking on the sidewalk interrupted the early-morning birdsong. Morgana strode up to you, her steps as sure and confident as they had been when she strode through Camelot. But you knew her better than anyone else did. You saw the uneasiness in the set of her shoulders and the flash of her eyes.

The two of you were knights in the ring, sizing each other up. Neither one of you were sure who had the advantage. It was that, more than anything, which allowed you to let your guard down.

 

* * *

 

You became inseparable after that. Morgana introduced you- using your fake identity- to her friends. You introduced her- with a few details omitted- to yours. Every spare minute was spent in each other’s company.

She didn’t remember Camelot, not really, but she still had her Dreams.

“Tell me about Arthur,” she said one day. “I’ve Dreamed about him since I was a child, but Dreams only show fate, not life. I know he was a great king, loved by many. But what was he like? And Gwen? Was Queen Guinevere really my handmaid? Was I really a Pendragon?”

So you told her stories, every night, about the prat of a prince who befriended a clumsy warlock peasant, about Gwen whose legendary beauty was miniscule compared to the goodness of her heart, about the brave and loyal knights, and the fantastic quests that were, somehow, not nearly as entertaining stories as the ones about their ordinary days. You even told her about the Lady whose beauty was known throughout Albion, who was witty and kind and the only one brave enough to tell King Uther he was wrong.

She was silent for a long time after that story. “What happened to her?”

You look at her, wondering the same. “She grew up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Just like the last life, Morgana’s power grew the more she was challenged. Only this time, the challenge she faced was friendly competition. You pushed her, knowing that she hated to lose. It didn’t matter though; she was no match for your raw power and centuries of practice.

When she grew frustrated, she complained that it felt like a punishment for her past mistakes. You didn’t tell her it felt like a chance to fix yours.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time she beat you, she cheered. You laughed at the undignified victory dance and asked her to try it again.

The first time she got a spell right on the first try, you both went out for drinks to celebrate.

The first time she could do a spell you couldn’t, she gloated for a week.

The first time you fumbled a simple spell you’d taught her months ago, you wrote it off as exhaustion.

The first time you couldn’t hold a shield spell, you began to worry.

 

* * *

 

Her magic was different than yours. You’d both been born with the gift, but you each had your talents. You had never seen the future in your dreams, and even scrying gave only flashes of detail that were open to interpretation. She would never be able to command dragons, even if she could befriend them. She needed to learn spells and rituals, but you needed control. She had trouble with potions and poultices. You had never been a gifted healer.

The two of you complimented each other, balancing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Sometimes that balance felt like a tug-of-war she was winning. You didn’t ask if she felt it, too.

 

* * *

 

You were definitely sure now that something was wrong. It wasn’t like the _gean canach_ , which drained all the magic from your reach, or the challenging spells that took practice and concentration to work. It was like your magic was… wilting.

You didn’t know the cause, or how to fix it. All you knew was that as Morgana grew stronger, you grew weaker.

 

 

* * *

 

Morgana began to notice.

She frowned at you with concern, but never mentioned it.

When you couldn’t demonstrate a spell, she insisted it was time for dinner, or that she was too tired to continue, or that the spell was arcane anyway, and why bother learning how to magically send letters when she could just text you?

You were grateful for her discretion, but it didn’t stop you feeling afraid.

 

* * *

 

 

Morgana began practicing on her own. She would borrow your spellbooks and grimoires, disappearing for hours with them. When she had read every page of magic you had, she asked if other books had survived the centuries.

Dedicated studies turned into obsessive searches and you began to suspect Morgan had ulterior motives. She declined your offer to help, and kept the nature of her work to herself.

You would have worried more, if you weren’t busy with your own research. Someone somewhere had to have written about magic fading.

* * *

 

 

You both needed a break. She suggested a show; you suggested Welsh folk music. She rolled her eyes and called you Old Man, but squeezed your hand and wouldn’t look away from the stage once the music began. You understand. It reminds you of Camelot, too.

Neither one of you were in the mood for the noise and light of the modern world after that. The National parks were closed at that hour, and with a whispered word and flash of gold, the two of you are alone with the winds and the hills and the ghosts of the past.

You lean against each other and share weight of a secret between two old souls. She tells you about her visions, and you talk about Albion. She asks about the era you waited between then and now; you ask her how knowing the past and future affects her perception of time. Neither one of you can find the words, but the burden of being outside the cycle of the natural world is understood without them.

* * *

  

Summer burns out and autumn fades and winter thaws until it’s spring again and for the first time in centuries you feel the passage of time. You don’t age, but you feel weaker; your connection to the world is slipping. Morgana still doesn’t say anything, but she knows. She feels it.

You’ve still found nothing helpful, not really, not even in the Crystal Cave, but you continue hunting theories anyway. You widen your search to include mysticism, shamanism, and magic from foreign traditions. Nothing helps. You didn’t really expect it to.

Morgana has stopped trying to keep her own studies a secret. While you search for an explanation or a cure, she tries to predict the consequences. But no one has ever been as closely tied to magic as Merlin has; there is nothing to indicate what happens when it all unravels.

 

* * *

 

 

With a look that is equal parts fear, doubt, and determination, Morgana hands you a book, pointing to a page half way through.

“Sleeping beauty? I didn’t think you were one for Disney, Morgana.”

“Look at the spells on the other page, Merlin. There are hundreds of stories about kings and sorcerers and men put into an endless sleep. It’s possible.” She pulls out another book and a notepad of scribbled ideas. “If we combine that with these spells…”

You are silent for a long time, studying the incantations and rituals. It’s risky, what she’s proposing. You don’t know if any of it could work, let alone all of it.

“I knew you were competitive, Morgana, but this is a new low,” you joked, but it sounds harsher than you meant it to.

She glowers at you. “It’s not about me, it’s about not losing the magic. It’s about keeping you alive.”

“Alive?” you shout. “Morgana, what difference does it make if I’m in a coma and drained of my magic? How does that help me?” Your voice rises in anger, and Morgana bristles.

“It makes all the difference, and I don’t have to be a High Priestess to know that. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll give us time. ”

You know she’s right, partially. These spells give you all a degree of control over what is happening to you and your magic. But it feels less like finding a cure than like choosing your coffin.

“What if Arthur…?” You can’t say it. It’s unthinkable. You’ve kept vigil for so long, knowing that he would need you when he rules again.

“Do you trust me, Merlin?”

 

* * *

 

Preparations take weeks, and several times you almost call it all off. You’re not ready to give up yet. A cure has to be out there somewhere. What if Morgana can’t find a solution? What happens to magic, to the earth, if Emrys is unconscious and powerless? What happens if Morgana can’t do it, or the spells aren’t compatible, or she dies before you wake, or Arthur wakes, or you die?

You’re playing with life and death, and you’re both aware that never ends well, but what else is there to do? You can’t be allowed to die. That much you both are certain of. You can’t lose your life, and you can’t lose your magic, and you still haven’t found another way to keep them both.

 

* * *

 

Morgana nearly collapses when she steps into the Crystal Cave for the first time. It’s overwhelming, and probably doubly so to a born Seer. When she’s able to focus and block out the visions, your confidence in her power is reaffirmed.

“Do you trust me, Merlin?”

You do. It may not be wise, considering her past, it may end up destroying everything, but you do. You hold her gaze until you both are certain of each other.

It begins with a stasis spell. Not for you, but for Morgana. You weave your magic through hers like ivy, granting her the power and the immortality she will need to accomplish this. For a brief time, you can feel everything, as if you and Morgana and the earth all share one soul.

Then she takes hold of the roots of your magic and replants them, keeping the power whole, but taking it from you. You expect it to hurt, to cut or bite or burn or freeze, but it’s like none of those. It’s like falling asleep after too many hours awake- the energy dropping low, the tension melting away, the quiet muffling your senses.

The crystals’ glow flares gold, with either reflection or prophecy or absorption of the magic. You can feel it hum all around you, but not within you. It’s a strange feeling, but the panic you expected feels distant. You should be more worried than you are. It should feel like a wound, like a violation, like a weakness, but instead it feels like it was meant to be this way.

Morgana watches you carefully. She looks distressed, and when you ask what’s wrong, she shakes her head.

“Morgana? It’s ok. I’m alright. What’s next?”

Her eyes are bright with tears. “I don’t think I can do this. It’s not right. I can’t do this to you.”

“Morgana.” You catch her hands and wait until she meets your eyes. “You _can_ do this. You were right; this is what has to happen. Everything is going to be alright. You’re strong enough. I know you can do it, and I would trust no one else. I trust you.”

She lets go of a ragged breath, reads over the incantation one more time, and nods. “Anything you want to say before we begin?”

You consider this. You’ve already gotten your affairs in order, you’ve taught Morgana how to navigate the modern world as an immortal, and the two of you have discussed every possible emergency procedure. You’ve said your good-byes. Still, you don’t like the idea of leaving your friend to deal with it all on her own.

“Just… be careful, Morgana.”

She nods in understanding. “You _will_ wake again, when the time is right, Merlin,” she says fervently. “The world still needs you. _Arthur_ will need you. But you’ve kept vigil long enough; let me take my turn waiting for him while you sleep.”

Without further ado, she begins. The enchantment sounds like a song, high and sweet and echoing through the cavern. You stretch out on the stone floor, letting the magic work its way through you. You know this is right, and you trust Morgana to keep you safe.

First to go is your sight, as you close your eyes. Then touch, as you relax into the feeling of falling asleep. Your heart and breath slow. Your thoughts still.

Then the only thing you are aware of is the song, your entire existence hanging in the balance of the melody.

Then even the song quiets.

  

* * *

 

 

The Crystal Cave has always existed a little outside the normal conventions of time and space, but you aren’t even aware of that much. You don’t feel the years passing. You’re don’t sense the changes of the earth around you.

And it _has_ changed. The tightness around Morgana’s eyes is enough to tell you that. You don’t know yet how many years have passed, or what has become of Albion while you slept.

It must be bad, you think, when Morgana urges you to hurry.

“Arthur is waiting for us.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In the Arthurian legends, Vivien, sometimes called Nineve, Nimue, Niniane, etc. is an enchantress who magically entraps Merlin in a cave (or a tree or a tower) in an enchanted sleep. He foresees this, but allows it to happen anyway.  
> The stories often use Morgan le Fray, Vivien, Nimue, and various other Lady of the Lake characters almost interchangeably.  
> This is my Modern AU/ BBC Merlin interpretation of that myth.


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